


Organized Chaos

by A_Brat_Without_Talent



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artist Lance (Voltron), But I wont, Caboodle, Cause that’s what selective Mutism streams from, Cryptids, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Gavels, I feel like I should apologize, Iverson is an asshole, Kinda, Lance (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance and Keith both like Cryptids, Lance’s mom is fucking amazing, Libraries, Locked In, M/M, Movie Nights, Mute!Lance (Voltron), Muteness, Panic Attacks, Pidge has no fucking manners, Pillow Fights, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Rain, Selectively Mute! Lance (Voltron), Shiro Is a student council Offer, Sunrises, Tree Climbing, falling, google it, i think, im really proud of chapter 7. Y’all can fight me., is that a thing?????, its important trust me, lance has self-esteem issues, moderately fast burn, pining is like instant i guess, platonic fluff, the mothman prophecies, very important tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-25 04:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Brat_Without_Talent/pseuds/A_Brat_Without_Talent
Summary: Lance McClain, a selectively mute teen, is thrown head first into Takashi’s life after unfortunate incident with a teacher.ABANDONEDI know i suck but keep in mind I had literally no plan for this .





	1. Vocal chords

**Author's Note:**

> Haha. I wrote this instead of writing chapter ten of my other fanfic. (Water in the blood) lol.

The sun lazily filtered through the trees causing warm patches throughout the forest floor. Unfortunately for those enjoying the warm February weather, the shade beneath the trees still clung to the chilly morning air. 

Class didn’t start until eight thirty but Lance liked to get up before the sun. He’d walk to the local park and draw for as long as he could. 

Mornings were a peaceful bliss for Lance. A time that lance had a moment of quiet to himself. His family, though Lance loved dearly, could never calm themselves enough for even an hour of silence. Needless to say, His House was a party. School on the other hand, was an obsolete nightmare. Lance spent his freetime dreading the next day. His only real time to himself, was the mornings, just before the sun rose. 

Lance sat underneath a tree. Earbuds blasting as he drew. His concentration solely focused on his latest piece. He’d been In the same spot since dawn. Sometime during the morning he had tore off his shoes at tug his feet into the warm damp grass. Various art supplies were scattered around Lance. They’d been tossed about from Lance’s attempts of scavenging through his supplies to find a perfect pencil. He’d just left the sitting in the grass, for later use, of course. They also bathed in spring sun. Becoming warm to the touch. Lance was lost in time, stuck in his own private world. 

A blaring alarm caused Lance to abruptly stop his drawing. It was set to warn him about the Impending school day. Lance shoved his shoes back in his feet. He hastily tossed all his supplies into his caboodle- a plastic purple bin that carried all his art materials. It carried all his materials cause Lance never knew what he would draw that day. Then Lance rushed off. 

Lance was a third year high school student. Lance took endorsement courses for digital art and animation, while still suffering through the core classes. 

The artist let out a long sigh. He dreaded his first class. The mere thought of facing the teacher and his scrutiny cause a twinge if anxiety. Lance reluctantly pushed through the classroom doors. 

The teacher, or professor as Iverson insisted being called, had yet to arrive, so Lance quickly took his seat next to Hunk Garrett, his long time best friend and roommate. Hunk was interested comic design but all third year students had to take a Principle of art class. 

Just as Lance set his things down, Professor Iverson marched through the door. His head held high. 

Iverson acted all high and mighty. Like a professional art critic. Lance knows that if he was actually good at judging art, he wouldn’t teach a high school Principal class. 

“I’ll be taking roll now. As always, The names are in a random order, pay attention or you will be counted absent. And Also, please,” Iverson sends a pointed glance in Lance’s direction. “Speak up if I call you.” 

“Hunk Garrett.” He voice is commanding and the class is silent. 

“Here, Sir.” 

“Shay Balmeria.”

“Present.”

Roll call goes on. Lance waits in anticipation. He dreads the inevitable to come. The same things happens every morning. His bliss ends

“Lance McClain.” Iverson speaks. Each syllable causing Lance’s heart to beat faster. He raises a hand, waving it in the air to show his attendance. 

Iverson narrows his eyes, glaring at Lance. “McClain, I said Speak.” 

Lance sighed, and gestures vaguely to his throat. Hunk interprets the gesture. “He’s here.” Hunk answer. Unfortunately, this did nothing to sway the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. 

Iverson looked up. “Are you you Mr.McClain, Mr.Garrett?” The professor asked dryly.

“Well, No but-“ Lance slumped down in his chair. He wanted nothing more than to leave the room. 

“Iverson, sir. We’ve explained this. Lance is mute he can’t answer you, sir.” Lance could feel eyes on him. They bore into his soul. Clawing into his mind. 

Iverson sets his papers down, giving Hunk a pointed glare. “His vocal cords aren’t broken,” Iverson turned to Lance. “Are they, McClain?” The artist in question was filled with the overwhelming desire to get up and leave. 

“If you don’t answer, I will be forced to count you tardy, again.” All in one swoop, Lance gathered all his things and ran out the door. His chest heaving, Lance rounded the corner. He hurriedly rushed towards the janitor’s closet. Unfortunately, His intentions to hide a closet had been faltered by a large mass in his way. Lance’s rushing caused both lance and the stranger to smack heads together. The mute boy ended launching his art supplies across the floor and slamming his ass against the tiles. Lance was more worried about the scattered supplies tossed about the hallway. As He began to gather his things, the stranger joined him on the floor. Lance lifted his head coming face to face with Senior Student Council Officer, Takashi Shirogane. 

“Ah. Geez. Sorry.” Takashi stuttered as he began picking up the art supplies.“Are these supposed to organized in a specific way?” 

Lance had a very specific organization for everything he owned. Every little trinket he possessed fit perfectly into what lance called organized chaos. On the outside, his organization skills looked like nothing short of a disaster, but Lance new everything had a place. 

Lance shook his head. “Alrighty.” It was easier to just organize it himself, Lance thought as he watch Takashi shove his pencils into the bin. The artist resisted the urge to cringe as Takashi put everything supply in the wrong place. “Sorry, again. I was in a rush.” The Student officer paused as he attempted to shove a marker in the overflowing bin. “You see, I’m supposed to help teachers if they ever have issues with students in class.” The two stood. 

The edges of Lance’s caboodle bulged from the messy of pencils stuffed inside. Usually, if organised properly they fit neatly. Lance held the bin tightly in his hands. He eyed his destination, the janitor's closet as Takashi talked. 

“I’m was headed to professor Iverson’s class.” Lance swallowed. “A student continues to walk out of class and has incidents with roll call. Iverson has explained the student blatantly disregard and disrespects rules of his classroom.” Lance slowly backed away, hoping to slip out as Shiro explained his situation. “I’m supposed to gather the student and take them to the counselor. Do you know which class is Iverson’s?” Takasho asked. 

Lance pointed towards the classroom. “Thank you.” Takashi turned on his heel and walked into the classroom. 

Lance let out a shuddering breath and slipped haphazardly into the Janitor’s closet.

Shiro stepped into the classroom, Iverson turned to him. “You must Mr.Shirogane.” The professor said. His voice was dry and devoid of all emotion. 

Shiro laughed nervously. “Uh, That’d be me, sir. I’m here to-“ His sentence was cut short by Iverson. He hated being interrupted, but Shiro wouldn’t dare corrected a teacher. 

“I know why you here, Mr.Shirogane. You just missed him.” Iverson mumbled a comment under his breath, but Shiro couldn’t make it out. “His name is Lance. He’s tall, tan and carrying a large purple bin.” Shiro eyes widened. The kid in the hallway was the delinquent student he was supposed to take to the counselor. “Can’t miss him.” Iverson continued. “Now, get of my class, you are disrupting the learning.” 

Shiro quickly apologized and backed out of the classroom. He quickly started searching for the student. Shiro’s journey didn’t last long. 

Lance let out a sigh of relief as the closet door shut behind him. He allowed himself a moment of peace. 

A small moment spent calming down and enjoying the quiet darkness of the janitor’s closet. He allowed the chemical scents of the room to waft through his nose.  
Despite its artificial smell, the cleaning products had a real grounding effect. It was a pleasant smell, to Lance at least. 

Lance reached up, attempting to pull the chord of the lamp. Unfortunately, Lance underestimated how tall he was. His hand backed the side of it and the lamp toppled. Lance fumbled with it before the lamp inevitably ended up slamming the janitor’s lamp against the door. A loud bang rang in the tiny closet. 

His moment of peace ended with the swinging open of the janitor’s closet door. 

“You must be Lance.” Takashi Shirogane said with a smile.


	2. Pillow wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro finds himself thinking of Lance and Lance is greatful to be released of Iverson’s wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Shit! Y’all really liked this. So, congrats, chapter two. Yay.

Shiro smiled as Lance followed quietly behind him. “I talked to Iverson for like two minutes and I can already tell he is an asshole.” 

Lance snorted. He had first hand experience with the Professor’s wrath. Lance knew Iverson could benefit from pulling the stick out of his ass. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much. Coran usually takes the students side. Teachers here are kinda corrupt.” Shiro talked. “I honestly don’t know why the district keeps half these people around.” 

Shiro pauses outside a door. “He’s in there.” Shiro put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance took note of the cool metal arm. “Honestly, I wouldn’t worry.” Shiro with another small smile, Shiro parted from The other “Bye, uh, Lance was it?” Lance nodded and entered Coran’s office. Shiro could hear The counselor loudly greet Lance, who didn’t mutter a response. 

Shiro wouldn’t deny that Lance had entrailed him. The silent tan boy was certainly an interesting mystery. He just couldn’t seem to shake Lance from his mind. 

Shiro walked into the library. His attempt to shake Lance from his head was small talk with a buddy of his. He slipped quietly into the back, where the bookshelves expertly hid bean bag chairs from view of the students. 

Shiro slumped down into a black bean bag chair, alerting his presence to the dark haired teen in the red bean bag. “Shouldn’t you be in class, Mr.Kogane.” Shiro teased. 

Keith looked up from his book, a scowl dressing his features. “Shut it. You’re interrupting my reading.” 

“Cryptids again?” Shiro asked, noisily peering over Keith’s shoulders. The other’s lack of response answered for him. 

Shiro pulled out his own book and began reading. It wasn’t anything special, just a book he’d pulled off his shelf. His mind soon drifted from his book to Lance. He had talked to the teen for no more than five minutes, but he wished it had been longer. Shiro imagines Lance voice. Was his voice as smooth as molasses? Was high or low? Did it crack? Did he stutter? Was it as deep as the ocean or as high as the sky. Shiro wished He could’ve heard Lance speak. It was a strange wish, a strange thought, for Shiro. 

After a few moments of comfortable silence between the two, Keith spoke.  
“Are we still on for movie night?” He asked. 

Shiro looked vaguely offended. “Of course. I can’t believe you’d even ask that.” Every Friday, Keith, Shiro and another friend of theirs, Pidge, would pick a couple movies. They’d stream them while munching on popcorn and pizza. Usually, the three of them would end up spending the night at the unlucky victims house. “I am personally offended you even considered that it wasn’t.” 

Keith scoffed, placing his book down. “Drama Queen.” Shiro‘s retort died on his tongue as Keith continued sp asking. “Oh! I think Pidge is bringing a couple of her friends with her.” 

“The more the merrier.” Shiro laughed. And the two turned back to their books. 

Lance entered the counselor’s office. He grimaced as the overly powerful scent of a candle invaded his nose. The scent was overly sweet, like he was smelling nothing but sugar. It attack his nose with an onslaught of sweetness. His face scrunched in discomfort. He may have a serious sweet tooth, but his nose did not follow the same tastes. Or smells, as one might say. 

The counselor laughed. “Yeah. That scent isn't for everyone.” Coran, Lance guessed, ushered Lance into a chair. Despite Coran being an older teacher, his hair refused to grey. It’s stark orange color stood out, only added to the color of his character. The only thing that could divulge the truth of his age were the prominent wrinkles decorating his face.The counselor appearance was strange, to say the least. “Sit. Sit. Let me introduce myself.” Lance placed his things on the floor. “My name is Coran Wimbleton-Smythe. You may call me Coran and you are?” 

Lance stared at Coran, dumbfounded on how to answer. He had long since given up on talking. 

Despite this, He wasn’t always silent.

It just sort of happened. He was always quiet in public. A shy child, barely ever speaking a word. Most of his conversing was at home, in the comfort of his family. When he was little, he talked -a lot according to his siblings-but negative reinforcement changed that. He had even stopped speaking at home. His mother had been upset. She had blamed herself for his silence. As a boy, Lance had no thought to question why he stopped speaking. The feeling of dread while in public had become the norm for him. He thought nothing different when a similar dread controlled his vocal chords. He hadn’t thought much of it until his mother thought she failed as a parent. Lance tried his hardest to make up for the heartache he cause his mother but everything he did never felt enough. His efforts never seemed to release the guilt he felt. 

Lance often found himself growing frustrated. He wanted nothing more than to crack a joke or yell loudly, but no amount of wishing would ever bring his voice back. Oh, what he would give to tell his mom ‘I love you.’. 

So many thoughts ran through his head. Each one its own caged bird, waiting desperately for the door open. Regrets and guilty, joys and humor, sadness and anger. Built up, ready to boil over, to explode. Bird, ready to escape but getting lost and forgotten in a maze of swimming thoughts. 

Lance knew it was all in his head. He knew there was nothing wrong with his vocal chords. If Lance would just get out of his own way, maybe he could just speak. 

He was a burden.

“Ah. A quiet one. No matter, If you do not wish to speak, I won’t make you. My job is to make you, the student, comfortable, safe, and happy. And if talking makes you uncomfortable, then you do not have too.” Lance was more than grateful for Coran’s mindsite. The artist had had handfuls of teachers that didn’t respect him or needlessly insisted he speak to them. 

“Anyway, I assume you know why you are here. I have already heard Iverson’s side of the story but I am more interested in yours. If you are struggling in anyway, I wish to help. You are my number one priority.” Coran slided a pencil and paper towards lance. “Will you write your side of the story? Spare me no detail.” Coran smiled. His enthusiasm leaked into Lance. Lance wrote his side, sparing no detail. 

“Hey Whores.” Pidge yelled dropping her bags. She sat down in the green bean bag next to Shiro. 

“Language.” Shiro murmured as he closed his book and faced the smaller teen. Keith followed in suit. 

“Can we switch Movie night to my house instead of Shiro’s?” She asked, quick to jump to a subject. “ I Invited two of my other friends, and one of my friends won’t come unless it’s at my house. Or I assuming, ‘cause I haven’t asked them yet. Well, I asked Hunk but he said only if-“ Pidge stopped rambling when she realized the pointlessness if dragging on the conversation. “The reasons don’t matter. Is that okay? If We have movie night at my house?” 

“You’re house is fine.” Shiro agreed. “I’ll bring snacks over at seven.” Shiro stood from the bean bag, cracking his legs. “And Keith picked the movie, so be prepared for so cheesy indie horror.” 

Keith shot up defensily. “One, Army of darkness was purposely cheesy. Two, The movie I picked is not an indie Horror.” 

Pidge laughed. “Hey Shiro, Remember when Keith made us watch Birdemic. Why did we ever agree to let him pick that?” 

“Hey!” 

 

Lance sunk into his chair as Coran typed up an angry email to Iverson. He could see the counselor’s blood boil as he read Lance’s side of the Iverson incident. As soon as Coran finished reading he got right into the email. 

“Alrighty.” Corona yelled happily as he pressed send. His chair spun around to face lance. “I’ve moved you from his class. Instead, you’ll being have a free period with me. Is that alright, my boy?” 

Lance nodded vigorously, he would do anything to get out Iverson’s class. The professor was a nightmare. I 

“Shiro also has a free period with me. I’m sure you two will make nice company.” Lance was relieved to find out he wouldn’t be alone all period. 

The bell suddenly rang, signaling a period change. Lance gathered his things and pushed out the door.  
“Good Bye, Lance! Have a nice weekend.” Lance waved as he departed. 

His other classes passed in a blur and before Lance knew it, the end of the day quickly approached. 

Lance waited outside, his art supplies gripped tightly in his hand. He had managed to find time during his lunch to reorganize it.

The sun once again lazily filtered through a canopy of trees. High school students everywhere filed out the building, ready to enjoy a nice weekend. Lance, too, couldn’t wait for a weekend of uneventful relaxation. 

Lance had plans to create a large multi-media art piece and finally the piece was ready to bring to life. He spent weeks planning and months getting the supplies. He held this project close to his heart. Lance was finally ready to make his vision a reality. He was ready to bring his voice to the world, in the only way he knew how. 

“Lance?” And hand waved in front of his face. Lance had been so lost in thought he didn’t even realize he was being spoken too. “Buddy?” Lance whipped his head around to face the speaker. His face spread into a grin when he realized who it was. 

“So Pidge invited us over for a movie night. Did you wanna come? There is gonna be food” After years of knowing Lance, Hunk knew exactly what to say. I’m not gonna go if you don’t go.” Hunk added. 

Lance reluctantly agreed. Who was he to deny food and a movie. As long as it was just Pidge and Hunk, Lance couldn’t care what they did. 

Hunk clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Great. No backing out since you already agreed.” Hunk practically dragged Lance to Pidge’s house. 

Lance walked straight into the young teens house. They had become such close friends with Pidge that knocking seemed pointless. Sometimes the two would walk in before the Holt’s got home. 

Mrs.Holt greeted the two as they dropped their bags at the door. “Hey Lance. Hey Hunk. Pidge is in the kitchen. She’s trying to bake.” Calleen snickered. Both teenagers knew Pidge’s baking skills were less than perfect. 

“Thanks, Mrs.Holt.” Hunk turned to Lance. “We better help her before she burns the kitchen down.” 

The two marched into the kitchen. Pidge was there viciously mixing together batter for cookies. “Hunk! Lance! Thank fucking god.” She gushed in relief. “I was trying to make cookies but god, I have about as much talent as a potted-plant.” 

Hunk pulled up his sleeves and pushed Pidge aside. “Have no fear, Pidgeon! Hunk is here.” Hunk chided and instantly got to work. Lance had no doubt the cookies would taste great. One of Hunk’s many talents was his godly cooking abilities. 

“Great!” Pidge diverted her attention to Lance. “Lance, wanna help me gather pillows and blankets?” 

Lance was always happy to oblige. After all, nothing is better than being useful. 

Pidge guided Lance to the linen closet. The two pulled out as much blankets and pillows as they could carries and lugged them to the living room. A smirk spread across Lance’s face as the dropped their loads on the couch. 

The silent teen scooped up a pillow and chucked it at Pidge. The unnoticing girl was knocked straight into a pile of pillows. Lance laughed as she stood up, a pillow in hand ready for revenge. “You’re gonna regret that Lance.” 

And pillows flew. It was a vicious fight. Hunk had been dragged in at some point. The living room had been during into a war zone like no other. 

Lance stood on the arm of the couch, a large smirk taunting his friends. He had two pillows, one for ammo and the other for a shield. Lance goaded his friends to attack. Pidge and Hunk stoke a glance, with one quick nod they both aimed pillows at Lance. They were ready to wipe the smirk off his face and thrown his ass to the floor. 

Before they had a chance to, the front door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Shance interactive in this chapter. They’ll talk more in the next chapter I promise.


	3. Gavels and Mothman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all like this?!?!? Here have some more.

When Shiro opened the door, he could do nothing but stare. Lance, the silent boy, balanced on the armchair of Pidge’s couch. His stance confident, his eyes glistened with smugness. Lance’s defiant smirk stood out the most.  
This teen seemed to be the complete opposite of the one he lead to the counselor that morning. He was loud without speaking a word. His presence was mesmerizing. This lance demanded attention. This unseen, more confident side only helped to draw Shiro closer to lance. 

Unfortunately, this Lance didn’t stay long. As soon as Shiro and Keith had entered the house, Lance slunk back into his shell. Retreating to a safer, shyer place. Shiro wishes he could’ve seen more of the smirking, pillow fighting boy. 

 

Lance was panicking. He never would have agreed to come if he knew other people were coming too. Lance slowly backed towards Pidge’s room. The Shiro’s lingering eyes and the others Scowl, convinced Lance that he had embarrassed himself in some way. He’d messed up in some way shape or form. Lance knew his thoughts were irrational, but that didn’t stop him from running into Pidge’s room. 

“Where is he going?” Keith asked, while they set up the living. 

Pidge looked up, sending Hunk a knowing look. “Oh, I  
Think Lance went to go get more blankets. I’ll go tell him we have plenty.” 

When Pidge left Shiro began conversing with Keith. “Lance is kinda cute.” Shiro commented nonchalantly. At the mention of Lance, Hunk looked over, fully intent on defending his friends honor, if the need be. 

Keith snorted. “You have weird types. I talked to him once, He’s kinda an asshole.” Keith swore Hunk was ready to kill him. “I tried to talk to him, ‘cause he seemed lonely and all. I was like ‘Hey, I’m Keith, You seemed kinda lonely so I thought I’d give you some company.’ And that dude didn’t even answer me. He liked stared at me like I was an alien.” Hunk suddenly burst into laughter. Keith looked over, raising an eyebrow. 

Hunk remembered Lance texting him about a similar situation. The artist had been surprised when a stranger came to speak to him. He seemed so sincere that it had shocked Lance. He remembered the encounter lasting only a few moments before the stranger stormed off. Lance, surprisingly, found the encounter hilarious. Hunk, in turn, had learned to think of that situation as humorous too. “Buddy. Keith, Lance is mute.”

Shiro felt himself deflate at this news. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Was he disappointed? Why did the thought of someone’s voice invoke such a strong feeling within him? Shiro let himself soak up these emotions and store them away. Surly, it was weird to long to hear a stranger's voice. 

“Oh.” Keith face dropped. “Oh shit.” He groaned, slapping himself hard against the face. “God damnit, Now I’m the asshole.” Keith grabbed the pillow nearest to him and shoved it into his face. He let out a frustrated growl. 

“Keith, You’re not an asshole.” Shiro started. “You’re just, touchy and Ass-y and hole-y” Keith chucked a pillow at his face. 

“I’m beginning to think You’re the asshole.” Keith growled. 

Pidge walked through the livingroom, Lance followed close behind. He shot a grin to everyone in the room then marched into the kitchen. 

Shiro, Hunk and Keith quickly set all the blankets into the place. They filed into the kitchen. 

Pidge stood at the end of the island and the other gathered around. “Alright! Listen up.” Pidge bellowed as she pulled a gavel from her pocket. She placed the sound block on the table and awaited silence. 

When the room was clear of all sound, even the shuffling of clothes, Pidge began. “Today we celebrate our thirty-sixth weekly movie night. This movie night in a momentous occasion, as we have two new members of the..” Pidge paused. They had been doing movie nights for a little over eight months now. During these eight months, Pidge, Keith and Shiro had developed a constant of sorts. At the beginning of movie night, They would gather to share announcements. The host would have the gavel and initiate movie night. 

“Psst. Shiro.” Pidge hissed, failing to whisper. “What did we agree on calling this?” Shiro whispered in her ear. 

“We have to welcome to new members to the Voltron movie night.” Keith could be seen slapping his hand against his face. He thought the name was stupid. “Before we can welcome our newest members, Keith will share the first movie we watch tonight. The first movie is always chosen by one a person and we will choose movies together the rest of the night. You’re not allowed to share your choose movie until this moment. Keith.” 

 

Pidge and Shiro started a drumroll to build up the tension. “The movie tonight is…” Keith reached into his pocket and pulled out the sacred movie. “The Mothman Prophecies!” 

Several reactions happened at once. 

“Are you serious?”

“God Keith.” 

“Haha.” 

Lance had instantly perked up. A secret pleasure of his was cryptids. He had books on everything, from Goatman to the man-eating tree, stuffed in the back of his closet. Mothman had a special place in his heart. Lance thought if Mothman as an angel of the cryptid world. Lance refrained from sharing some of interests for fear of embarrassment and teasing. Needlessly to say, He was happy they were watching a movie based on Mothman. 

“Order. Order.” Pidge commanded, slamming the gavel loudly in the sound block. “As much as I’d to criticize Keith’s movie choice, We must get on with movie night.” Everyone quiet down. “First step in your initiation, tell us what you favorite genre of movies is and give everyone your phone number. You bitches are joining to group chat t.m.” Shiro shuddered. There group chat was sin. “Lance you can write the stuff down.” Pidge said sliding down paper and a pack of markers. 

Lance quickly wrote his answers as Hunk completed the initiation. In bold blue letter Lance wrote Sci-Fi on the paper and wrote his number smaller below it. 

“Initiation complete.” Pidge spoke. “Welcome to Voltron Movie Nights. As you see, we take this very seriously. Shiro brought pizza. Hunk made cookies. And Keith, I swear to god if there is tomatoes in your fruit salad I will find you and I will kill you.” Pidge grumbled. She grabbed the gavel, slamming it loudly against the sound block. “Meeting adjourned.” 

Hunk and Shiro began bringing the food into the living room, while Keith set up the movie. Pidge loudly complained about his choice. She didn’t mean it to actually offend Keith, she meant it in light humored teasing. 

Lance approached her. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. “Yeah?” Pidge asked spinning around to face Lance. 

In his attempt to convey his message, Lance wildly swung his hands. Pidge didn’t understand. “Lance, Dude, just text me.”  
Lance frowned, his phone was dead and he left his charger at home. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and desperately tried to tell her.

“Lance, I don’t understand. I’m sorry.” 

Frustration seeped into his blood. Simple words. He just had to speak simple words. Words even a toddler could speak. Why didn’t his voice just listen to his mind? Why does the thought of speaking invoke such horrible feelings? He should just stop trying. 

“Don’t give up Lance.” Pidge said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. She could see his frustration, leaking on the floor like a drippy faucet. “Think carefully about what you want to say and how you can show me.”

So he thought. Lance wanted to tell Pidge his phone was dead. Lance led himself through his thoughts, following the trail they left like a scavenger hunt. His thoughts eventually brought Lance to batteries. 

He snagged the remote from Keith, who protested loudly. Lance tore out the batteries and hopefully waved them in Pidge’s face. Lance was confident in her abilities to decipher his messages. 

“Phone. Batteries. Phone and Batteries. No texting.” Pidge said aloud as she gathered her evidence. “Oh. You’re phone is dead.” Lance nodded. Pidge dug into her pockets and pulled out her phone. She quickly unlocked it and swiped to the notecard add. “Type away my silent friend.” She passed her phone over to Lance, who quickly typed up his earlier question.

Do you have any post-it notes? 

Pidge nodded. With a quick walk into the kitchen, Pidge returned with a stack of post-it notes. “I assume you don’t need any pens, considering the amount of art supplies I see stuffed in your jacket pocket.” She teases tossing them over to Lance. He gave a grin in thanks. 

Lance walked over to his backpack and pulled out his sketchbook. With a cringe, He tore out the first page and folded it gently. Lance then scribbled a note and stuck it to the picture. 

The page he tore was a drawing of Mothman and an Alien giving each other finger guns. Lance loved the drawing. The post it note had a same message on it saying ‘I believe too! Shh.’ Lance passed the paper discreetly to Keith. 

He looked it over with confusion, before sending Lance a small smile. Keith put his fingers to his lips and pretended to zip them shut. 

“I take it back.” Keith said loudly. “Maybe your not an asshole after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I somehow managed to drag out movie night. Like they haven’t even watched the movie yet. I am sorry. Shance content in the next chapter tho.
> 
> Fun Fact: The drawing Lance handed Keith is an actual drawing of mine and I love it.


	4. Bacon and coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I swear to fuck I had to repost this like three fucking time. Aughfjgmvjvmvm

After the third movie, Lance had begun to feel sleepy. He fought desperately to keep his eyes open but ultimately failed. Lance drifted into sleep. 

Shiro has been invested in movie when a lump of soft brown hair fell onto his shoulder. “Lance?” Shiro asked craning his neck so he could see the boy without moving him. “Is he asleep?” Shiro asked to no one in particular. 

Pidge sat up on the couch. She pushed her glasses up and looked towards Lance. “Yeah. You can move him if he’s making you uncomfortable.”

Shiro gleaned towards Lance. “It’s fine. I don’t want to risk waking him up anyway.” He shrugged nonchalantly. Despite this, Shiro could feel his heart beating in his chest. It threatened to leap out of his chest. 

As someone who suffers from PTSD, Shiro wasn’t foreign to anxiety. A racing heart or shaky hands was nothing new to him. It wasn’t out of the ordinary.  
A racing heart and feelings of longingness because of a person; that was new. He had never experienced the feeling of longing for someone. In fact, Shiro thought it was strange to develop these feelings after only a day of meeting someone. Shiro didn’t dive deep into his questioning as he knew it was impossible to control how you felt. 

Shiro was dragged out of his thoughts by the click of a phone camera. “Pidge.” He frowned glancing towards the girl who sheepishly held her phone behind her back. 

“Oops. Looks like my camera mysteriously went off. Huh. Weird.” Pidge didn’t even try to hide her true purpose. 

 

Shiro awoke to the overwhelming aroma of bacon flooding his nose. He noticed Lance was no longer sleeping on his shoulder. But the discarded blankets next to him revealed the teen had only recently gotten up. With a stretch and a yawn, Shiro begrudgingly rolled off the couch. He marched straight into the kitchen. 

Soft, quiet music wafted gently through the air. Lance danced to it as He watched the bacon sizzling in the pan. Hunk quietly hummed to the song as he mixed together muffin batter. Neither of them seems to realize Shiro was there.  
The natural morning light shined the through the kitchen illuminated the two as they cooked. The entire atmosphere rang of domestic bliss. It truly was a beautiful scene. 

Shiro’s pre-coffee mind seemed to ignore all logic as the man approached Lance. He plopped his chin on Lance’s shoulder, earning a yelp in surprise. 

Lance’s face flushed when he realized who stood next to him. Shiro tiredly leaned on Lance. His hair stuck up in all directions reminding lance of a porcupine. Shiro’s eyes watered as he tried rubbing the sleep from them. Lance thought he looked indearing. 

“Oh. Hey Shiro.” Hunk greeted. “Breakfast will be ready soon. And if you need some coffee it’s in the- Holy hell. Shiro your hand his resting in the freaking hot stove.” Shiro quickly redacted his hand. He hadn’t even realized it was on the stove. “How did you not feel that? The hecking heck?” 

Shiro quickly dunked his hand into the freezer before pulling it out and facing the confused teen. “My arm is metal.” Hunk blinked. “It’s a prosthetic.” Shiro could see the curious glances from Lance as he spoke. “I can’t feel anything with it since it’s not real.” 

“Ooooh.” Hunk drawled. “That is awesome. I thought it was just a cool tattoo. How did you lose it?” Shiro stiffened. 

Shiro knew Hunk meant to harm by it. Shiro just wished he could quell the teens curiosity but, Shiro wasn’t comfortable sharing the information. Luckily, Hunk seemed to understand this and instantly backed off. 

“As I was saying, The coffee is in the dining room, I think. Pidge has a fancy one.” 

Shiro grabbed a mug from the cabinet.“You guys want any?” The two had already made breakfast for the group, so Shiro was happy to repay them by making some coffee for them. 

“Nah. I don’t drink coffee. Lance, You want any?” 

Lance bit the edge of his lip. He loved coffee but Lance didn’t want burden Shiro with something Lance could easily make himself. Not to mention, he liked his coffee made in a specific way. 

Lance sighed. A normal person would just accept the offer, so Lance nodded slowly. 

“Alright.” Shiro pulled another mug out from the cabinet. “Do you want cream and sugar in your coffee?” Lance once again nodded. Shiro purposely asked questions Lance could answer with a nod or shake of his head. “Alright. Do you want a little bit of cream?” Lance shook his head. If his coffee didn’t taste like pure sugar then there wasn’t enough sugar in his coffee.

“On a scale of one to diabetic, How much sugar do you want? Diabetic meaning ten.” Shiro jokingly asked. Lance grinned and held up ten fingers. “Coming right up!” 

Within the hour, the sleeping other members had woken. Everyone crowded around the living enjoying the morning. Keith and Pidge grumpily drank black coffee as Hunk and Lance conversed. Hunk had a knack for understanding Lance’s vaguely and crazy hand gestures. 

Keith downed the rest of his mug and slammed it loudly on the table. The group, including Keith, cringed at the loud bang. “I don’t understand.” He said, gaining the attention of everyone. “Lance, why don’t you just learn ASL?” 

Lance froze. Keith had unknowingly struck a chord. 

It was no secret Lance was stubborn. Everyone knew if he had his mind set on something then Lance would get it done. He was determined. Because of this Lance stubbornly refused to learn ASL. He knew that, once again, He was being ridiculous. In Lance’s mind, he thought of learning ASL as giving up on ever speaking again. 

Lance had given up on his voice ever coming back but he wasn’t ready to admit this. He desperately clung to the smallest fraction of his dignity, to his pride. It took a lot for Lance to give up on something. He was headstrong only with the rest of his family who cheered Lance on every chance they got. His family proudly bragged about his perseverance and determination. Lance didn’t want to admit he had given up on himself. He didn’t want others to know he had given up. Lance wasn’t ready to disappoint his family. 

With a stiffened smile, Lance shrugged off Keith. For once, He was glad that he couldn’t speak. 

As a single mother of four Lance’s mom tended to be protective of her child. She always wanted to know when they were home and when they left. Lance’s mother tended to worry excessively if her children did otherwise.  
To compensate for this, her children would announce loudly when they arrived or left home. 

To make it easier for his mother to tell when he was home, Lance put a bell on the front door. The was similar to the ones in shops. 

Lance swung the front door open, the bell ringing as he did so. 

“Lance! Is that you?” His mother called walking out the kitchen. She was covered head to toe in flour. “ Sunday night, I’m making Italian food for dinner. Veronica will be on a date, so invite one of your friends, I wanna meet them.” Lance’s mother was a direct woman. She never sugar coated her words. 

Lance followed her into the kitchen, it was just as flour-coated as his mother. Lance’s house was always a mess. Toys scattered the floor, clothes over filled the laundry room. His house was chaos 

Even so, everything had its place. There was a pattern to the mess. A organization to the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda shit.


	5. Late Nights.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some nights you just don’t sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for this short and Late chapter but trust me. It was worth it.

Sunday morning brought cloudy skies and a slight dusting of rain. It was the kind of dreary weather that set Shiro on edge. Restlessness swelled in his chest. 

Shiro’s senses were heightened. Every noise belted throughout his house. Shiro was antsy and anxious. His legs begged for a run and his heart pleaded for activity. 

Jumping from his bed, Shiro slipped on a pair of shoes and a jacket. He stuffed his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants and shuffled outside.

Shiro welcomed the darkness of dawn. He reveled in the time before the sun peaked; when the earth was quiet and the air was cold. 

The town was still and frozen. The only sign that time even moved was the small halo of light slowly protruding from beneath the earth. 

To release his restlessness, Shiro pulled his hoodie on and went for a run. He ran through his neighborhood as the sun began to peak on the horizon. Since the clouds were thin, the sun still shone. 

In a spur of the moment, Shiro turned around and jogged towards the park. There was a hill at the edge of the park where the forest met the town. It towered high enough that one could see the sunset and still be hidden from view of the houses. 

The park on the edge of the neighborhood, where the houses end and nothing but corn fields and forest stretched on. The only evidence of human life was the highway that cut through the forests. 

 

Shiro ignored the dampness seeping into his clothes from leaves slapping against him as he marched up the hill. When Shiro reaches the top the the hill, he parted the branches and stepped into a clearing. 

Shiro knew he had bad luck. Every moment in his life pointed to it. From his birthday to his missing arm, the facts were undeniable. He was a contagious bad luck bacteria. Spreading like a wildfire. In this moment, Shiro had never been more certain of his bad luck. 

 

There were some nights when Lance would never sleep. He’d sneak out of his house in the middle of the night and trek to places where the town lights didn’t shine out the night sky. He’d stay out all night, climbing to the highest places he could find in an attempt to get closer to space. 

Lance felt a pull to space. Like the moon and the stars called to him. Space was a siren and Lance wanted nothing more than to be drowned in its brilliance. 

With a sketchbook in hand, Lance went to sketch the stars. 

Lance was halfway out in the woods when he realized the clouds covered up the stars. Heavy with disappointment, Lance hightailed it back to the suburbs. 

The night was still young and Lance was anything but tired. Instead of drawing the stars, Lance decided to sketch the town. He hiked up the tallest hill and climbed the sturdiest tree until the swing sets below looked like ants. 

The last thing Lance expected was the branches on the hill part in the middle of his sketch. The sudden movement cause lance to jerk back. His hand were more focused on the drawing than the tree so nothing could stabilize him when he flinched. 

 

Lance wobbled off the branch. 

The world moved in slow motion. Lance saw the sunset poking through the sky as branching invaded his vision. He saw his art supplies tumbling. They ricocheted off branches. Papers glided down word. 

His hands shot out; fingertips brushed against the edges of the bark but Lance wasn’t fast enough. Without anything to grab onto, Lance plummeted towards the ground. 

Lance let out a screech as branches smacked against his face. His clothes tore as the caught on leaves. He scrambled, mid-air, to grab onto anything. Lance could feel his fingernails ripping off his skin as he tried desperately to latch onto anything. The damp bark slipped through his fingers. 

With a sickening crunch, Lance collided with the forest floor. 

“Oh.” Shiro stuttered. “Oh. Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaa. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Holy shit. That was supposed to be fluff. They were gonna watch the sunset together. Oops. 
> 
> Again. Sorry for the short chapter.


	6. On Coming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y’all know what’s up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. It’s been a really stressful month for me. I wish I could’ve got this out sooner.

Lance was shaking. He couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred with tears. Everything was too loud, even the panicked voice of Shiro on the phone. His leg burned with a ferocity he’d never experienced. Lance could feel every inch of his body ache with the pain of impact, but nothing hurt more than his dominant arm. Lance was certain it took the brunt of the landing.

After a hastily ended phone call, Shiro knelt beside Lance. A string of apologies past through his lips but Lance didn’t seemed to be paying attention. Shiro might’ve been even more worried if the injured teen hadn’t been shakily shoving his phone into Shiro's hands. His phone already unlocked as Lance handed it over. 

Shiro was ninety-percent sure of what Lance wanted him to do. 

Marrie McClain was a worrier. After single handedly recused her children from a terrible place, She held her together with a strength she didn’t know she had. This left her protective and anxious. With every minorly bad situation, she thought the worst. 

So, when she got a phone call from her son, she panicked. Her son never called, for good reason. 

“Lance?” She stuttered through the phone. Her panicked only increased when a voice replied on the other end. 

“Uh. No. Sorry. My name is Shiro, I’m a friend of Lance’s….from school.” 

Marrie let out a sigh of relief. “Why…Why do you have his phone? Did something happen?” The sound of an ambulance siren blast through her is ears and her panic once again spikes. 

“Yeah. Um. Lance fell from a tree. He’s okay! Kinda.” Shiro added abruptly. “I’m heading to the hospital with Lance. Uh. I gotta go, the ambulance just arrived.” 

Marrie quickly pulled a pair of pants and shoved on some shoes, then hustled out the door. “I’ll be right over.” 

When the ambulance arrived, Lance was whisked away. This left Shiro alone in the waiting area. He had little time to mull over the events that transpired before a middle aged woman barged through the front door.

She bared a striking resemblance to Lance. This woman had the same brown hair accept it had grey streaks and was pulled into a taut bun. Her caramel skin shined with the same well-kept look, barely visible laugh lines were the only difference between her face and Lance’s. 

Shiro was certain that this woman was Lance’s mom. 

She marched up the front desk. “My son, Lance McClain is here. Which room?” Her words were poised but her tone suggested she had mission that could not be stopped. 

Shiro stood from his seat and walked towards Lance’s mother. He tapped her on the shoulder. The woman turned around, her lanky body moving so quickly Shiro backed away with a start. 

“He gets it.” She smirked, despite this her face clearly desplayed worry. “Now, What do you need?” 

Shiro dug into his pocket and brought out Lance’s phone. “Uh. My name is Takashi Shirogane, or Shiro. And I just wanted to give you Lance’s phone back. And uh-“ 

The woman snatched the phone from his hands and gave Shiro a quick hug. “Thanks for calling me.” She whispered as she released the hug. “My name is Marrie McClain.” 

Shiro was momentarily stunned before he shook his head. “I wanted to apologize. I was headed up the hill to see that sunset and I never saw Lance in the tree. So when I got their I guess I scared him and he fell. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I can pay hospital fees or something.” He rambled, already pulling out his wallet. 

Marrie frowned. “No need.” Her expression was unreadable. “It’s certainly not your fault. I assure you.” 

Shiro nodded and stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. He’d repay Lance somehow. 

The doctors diagnosed Lance with a broken wrist, arm and leg. He was drugged to hell, but the doctors said he’d be fine. 

When Hunk heard the news he winced knowing just how much Lance used his wrist. Surly, his art would suffer. Although, Hunk knew a broken wrist wouldn’t stop Lance. He wondered briefly if He should make sure Lance puts his wrist to rest. 

When Lance came into school the following week hobbling in on a crutches, with a dopey smile and a notecard reading ‘whoops’ taped to his chest, Pidge literally fell out of her seat. Howling with laughter she screeched, “What the fuck did you do?” 

Lance raised an eyebrow. He wiggled his arm in the air. The intent was clear. 

‘I broke my wrist, dumbass.’ 

As Pidge was readying a snarky comment, Lance smirked as he dug in his pocket and pulled out several multi-colored sharpies. Pidge broke into a large smile. “Fuck yes! I was wondering why you got a white casts.” 

After texting a quick message on some note card, Lance proudly stuck out the toe part of his foot cast. A moment later Pidge’s phone dinged, signaling Lance had sent her a message. 

‘Live out your fetish dreams, Pidgey.’ 

“Gross, You dork. Now give me your Wenis, my name is going one place and one place only.” 

Chuckling, Lance thrusted his elbow towards Pidge, who quickly scribbled her name on his Wenis. Hunk burst into the room, even though it wasn’t his class, with arms open wide and bags upon bags of pastries and other treats. 

Hunk scratched his head. “I stress baked.” He supplied after a bone crushing hug. Hunk signed his name on Lance’s cast before passing the pastry bags off.  
Pidge snatched one bag from Lance leaving the teen with enough sweets to feed an elephant. 

Pidge stuffed a donut in her mouth before asking. “I heard it’s gonna rain this afternoon. Can I borrow the umbrella that’s in your locker, Lance? Ya’ Girl's Gotta walk home.”  
Lance nodded before motioning to Hunk who interpreted the gesture and parroted his message. 

“Chew with your mouth closed, you fucking heathen.” 

Shiro was drowning in guilt. He could feel it filling his lungs and its tendrils tugging him deeper into its ink blackness. He choked on it and it blocked out any rational thought. He felt this guilt invading his body like a virus. He couldn’t breathe. 

Shiro pushed his chair back and stepped out of the classroom. Only then did He notice the rain dumping buckets of water from the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I had fun writing this chapter despite how anti-climatic this was.


	7. Pompeii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Lance get locked in a library.

There are days where Lance can easily blend in with a crowd. Days where is movements are interpreted into words. There are days in his life where he has no trouble communicating even if no words leave his mouth. Days upon days where everyone, who matters, can understand every gesture.

Then there are days were his phone his dead, his bones are broken and despite his desperate attempts to smile positively at every moment, he still feels like shit and his ‘voice’ just doesn’t travel. 

Days where the rain cascades from the sky and Lance is stuck in the library because his cast can’t get wet. There are days where he wants to complain and complain but he has no outlet since his thought are stuck behind an incredible filter.

Some days where Lance can’t get a ride home because his mom works till eight and his dad is deadbeat who lives across across town. 

There are Monday afternoon where Lance can’t go home because his friends couldn’t interpret his one hand gestures. Or Monday’s where his broken wrist prevented him from writing the pleading question on a piece of paper and of course, he couldn’t text anyone because his phone was dead. Oh, the one day he left his charger at home. 

On the bright side, Lance forced positives to drive away the clouds, it couldn’t get any worse. 

Shiro took a shuddering breath as he nestled himself in the back of the library. He could feel his heart beating rhythmically with the rain pattering against the roof. With each minute that the rain pounds on, his chest grows heavier and heavier, his breathe grow quicker and quicker. 

Suddenly, Thunder clangs through the sky. Shiro’s breath hitches. Seconds later another boom echos through the air. The light groans for a moment, flickering and the rain picks up speed. Shiro's hands shake, anxiety and guilt press into his soul. They fight his rational mind for control over his body. All at once, rain and thunder explode into Shiro's ear, the lights once again flicker off and the loud whistle of the air conditioning shuts off. 

So many things, an endless list of troubles, plagues Shiro’s mind. Shiro, the garrison star child. Shiro, the leader, is in such chaos. His mind is a mess of fears he can’t seem to get rid of. Thoughts that refuse to hide themselves in his head. 

Memories.

Memories that he can’t seem to forget.

Shiro wishes endlessly that he could just move on, but no matter what he does, his is stuck. Frozen in time. He is Pompeii, buried beneath layers of rock and ash. Effortlessly persevered in the most chaotic, devastating moment of his life. His mind, his body, his soul is getting buried underneath the earth as a volcano tears his life apart. 

No matter how hard he tries, Shiro is stuck in the day he lost his arm. The day he lost his domestically simple life. The day he lost his parents. 

He lives it each day. Every night, Shiro closes his eyes and he’s sitting in the back seat of his parents car. His child sized hands trace the water droplets that race down his window. His mother worryingly asks His father if they should pull over and wait for the storm to pass. 

“It’s just a storm, Honey.” The driver soothes his wife. His hands seem so large against the steering wheel. Shiro vaguely remembers the palms of his father's hands engulfing his own. 

“Please, Char. The forecast says it’s gonna hail. I don’t want to get in a wreck.” Thunder explodes over their head. Shiro’s mom lets out a shriek. Shiro remembers his mother singing him songs before he went to bed.   
“Stop this car right now, Char! I’m not getting in a fucking wreck because my husband is too risking.” Shiro’s mother had never cursed before. 

“Alright, Babe. Alright. I’m pulling over. I’m pulling over. Calm down your gonna scare Taka-“

Shiro would forever be stuck in this moment.

The moment when lightning struck in front of the car. His mother screamed, his father cursed and Takashi watched as the car violent swerved. The world seemed to love in slow motion as the car flipped forward. His mother turned back towards Shiro. His father screeched as Shiro watched his mom grab his own arm. The arm he would soon lose and utter the words he would never forget. The words that made it impossible to leave this moment in time. “I love you!” She screamed as their car collided with something. Shiro was out before he could see what they hit. 

Wou his mother had lived if she hadn’t turned to face him? Would his father had lived it had buckled his seat belt? Would Shiro be dead if he didn’t watch? Would Lance have broken his arm if he didn’t decide to hike that day? Shiro wouldn’t have that blood curdling scream stuck in his head if he had decided to just stay home. He wouldn’t have The sounded of Lance’s nails scratching against the tree as he scrambled for a grip. He wouldn’t have the sound of those very same, beautifully painted nails ripped from Lance’s skin because he scared the teen. It would be months before Lance could paint his nails again. 

Shiro paused his thoughts and waited hopefully for the power to return. It did not. 

Shiro was guilty and scared. His mind swirled in a tornado of emotion he just wanted to leave him. 

After a few moments of silence, except for the rain beating down from above, Shiro heard the rattling and scraping of crutches on the raggedy carpet floor. 

Lance limped over to the edge of the doors. 

He knew the doors of the library where electric powered. They only opened with a button connected to the librarians desk. The doors were built this way to prevent books from going missing. 

With a bout of paranoia, Lance leaned over the desk that sat next to the doors. He felt around the edge. His face screwed up as he cringed when his nibble fingers brushed against dried gum that had been haphazardly stuck to the underside of the desk. Once his fingers finally felt the plastic surface of a button. Lance pressed it and awaited the sound of the door clicking open. It never came. Lance was greeted with silence. 

Lance, once again, gripped his crutches, he took at sharp turn and attempted to push open the door. When the double doors stayed shut, Lance realized his paranoia was warranted. 

Shiro heard a loud groan, and the sound of weak kicking. He peered around the corner to see Lance trying desperately to push open the door. He saw Lance teetering, one handed and one legged, against the door. Sensing Lance’s inevitable fall, Shiro shot forward, caring Lance in his arms moments before he thumped in the ground. 

“Lance, you are in idiot. Do you want to break another limb?” 

Lance let out a sly smile and a loud laugh. 

Lance would consider himself an expert on reading people. One tended to be when he’d spent half his life watching conversations instead of being apart of them. When you couldn’t utter a word, when the thought of doing so caused every fiber of your being to shut down, you tended to watch from the sidelines. Lance was a benchwarmer. 

He was an observer. During the years he sat silently through heated arguments, loud family game nights, crushing divorces and passionate loving conversation about incredible impossible things, Lance learned to read people. People were an open book. As he learned to read people, he learned to use what he knew to communicate. 

Instead of learning Sign Language like so many people had suggested, Lance made up his own language. It was impossibly Lance. 

Lance’s benchwarmer years made it possible to tell that Shiro was on the verge of a panic attack. Lance had x-ray vision that could see through Shiro’s mind like a superhero. 

Lance McClain, a selectively mute teen, who was thrown head first into Shiro’s life, does the only thing he can think of. He wraps his arms around Shiro and envelopes his friends in a hug. 

And Shiro breaks.


	8. Lol. Sorry.

Big surprise, but I'm not writing this anymore. 

I felt kinda bad about not saying anything but basically I just got bored with it. 

That's literally it. I didn't have this planned out anyway. Feel free to like write it if y'all are actually invested in the story.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. There’ll probably be more. Keep in mind I have actually no plan for this story.
> 
> Emily you can fight me.


End file.
